


We'll Fix It

by futuresailors



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Captain America: The Winter Soldier, Captain America: The Winter Soldier Spoilers, Conversations, Crying, Dialogue Heavy, Dreams, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Friendship, Gen, Grief/Mourning, Hurt/Comfort, Male-Female Friendship, Nightmares, Post-Captain America: The Winter Soldier, Steve Rogers & Natasha Romanov Friendship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-26
Updated: 2014-04-26
Packaged: 2018-01-20 20:36:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,749
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1524737
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/futuresailors/pseuds/futuresailors
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Steve has a hard time after his battle with The Winter Soldier and isn't sure what to do with himself. After not seeing him for a week, Natasha finally shows up to his apartment unannounced to figure out how they can get back to work. There is some crying involved.</p>
            </blockquote>





	We'll Fix It

**Author's Note:**

> I've only seen CATWS once so far, so I apologize if I've remembered anything incorrectly. It also may not line up completely with the ending, but I guess it takes place before the final scene at the cemetery. 
> 
> I was really interested in how Cap and Natasha's friendship has developed, and wanted to elaborate on it some more. Thanks for reading!
> 
> NOTE: I didn't feel like I got this quite right the first time, so I edited some things and expanded others. It's now about 600 words longer than when I originally posted it, with a slightly different title.

Natasha hesitates when she reaches Steve’s apartment door, shifting the Chinese takeout containers in her arms as she hovers her hand back and forth above the buzzer. Was this weird? It felt a little weird. He’d already been out of the hospital a week and had assured everyone that he was fine, that whatever happened on the helicarrier and in the river would have no lasting negative effects, that nobody needed to worry about him. This is Captain America we’re talking about, for God’s sake; it’s pretty hard to do any real damage to the guy.

But Natasha hadn’t heard from him since, and Sam said he hadn’t seen him out running either. This concerned her. It was pretty hard to cause Steve any physical harm, sure, but he had been through an almost unfathomable number of traumatic experiences lately. When people look at you and see a scientifically perfected super soldier they tend not to worry too much about your mental health, but that doesn’t mean that it doesn’t need to be addressed. Natasha feels like she knows Steve pretty well now, or at least better than most people do, and she wants to make sure he’s okay. They’re friends, and friends sometimes show up unannounced with food because they’re worried about you, right? Right. She rings the doorbell.

She knows that she had made the right decision as soon as he opens the door. Steve looks _terrible_ , or at least as bad as it is possible for Captain America to look, pale and sad and a little unsteady. If she didn’t know that it was impossible, she would have assumed that he was sick. It takes him a second to process that someone is standing in front of him, like it’s been a while since he actually interacted with a person. He frowns.

“Nat? What are you doing here? What’s wrong?” His voice is hoarse.

“Nothing’s wrong. Not with me, anyway. I just wanted to check on you”.

“Oh...thanks. You didn’t have to do that. You could have just called. Or not gone to the trouble at all. I’m fine”.

“Like hell you are. You look awful. You sound awful. Let me in, I brought you some food”.

She doesn’t wait for him to acknowledge these statements, placing her hand lightly on his chest as she pushes her way inside. It’s dark inside the apartment, and there’s a mess of tangled blankets on the floor by the couch, like it had been a struggle for him to get up and answer the door.

“Have you been sleeping in here? Did I wake you up?” she asks as she sets the takeout boxes on the counter. It seems a bit early for him to be asleep, but he is also clearly not in a good place right now. “I’m assuming you have a bed that would be more comfortable”.

“No. I haven’t really been sleeping”, he admits, still standing by the door and looking a little dumbfounded. “At least in here I can watch TV”.

“Mmhmm. And you’ve been watching the news about the helicarriers, I assume. That’s probably not a great idea, Rogers. You don’t need to keep reliving what happened”.

“I...there’s not much else on right now”.

“Christ, watch a movie or something. Read a book. There’s no need to beat yourself up”.

She realizes as she says it that it’s probably a poor choice of words, making the sentence sound like it ends with ellipses instead of a period. There’s no need to beat yourself up...because your brainwashed back-from-the-dead best friend already did that for you and you almost died and now we don’t know where he is or what he’s doing. Steve makes some sort of noncommittal noise, still looking in the opposite direction.

“You really do sound terrible. Come here. Do you want some of this soup?”

He walks over to where she’s standing and leans his body against the counter, as if taking those half a dozen steps was too much effort. He shoves his hands quickly into the front pocket of this sweatshirt, but Natasha can tell that they’re trembling.

“You brought me _soup_? You know that I don’t, like, have the flu or anything, right? Not since 1942”.

“Honestly if I didn’t know any better I would think that you did. It sounds like it hurts to talk. What’s going on with you? I thought your super special healing powers took care of whatever damage you inflicted on your vocal chords during missions. Actually, mere mortals’ voices usually don’t sound wrecked for that long. And I’m not trying to be insulting, but you look like death”. She reflexively reaches up and puts her hand on his forehead, although she knows it’s illogical. If anything, he feels cold.

“It’s not from...I’m fine, Nat”, he says, recoiling from her touch. “Also, I’m not hungry. I appreciate it, but I really don’t need anything”.

“Uh huh. When was the last time you ate, Mr. Requires Four Times the Calories of a Normal Person In Order to Function?”

“I’m a grown man, Natasha. I’m older than you. Technically I’m older than your grandparents. I know how to feed myself”.

“That’s not an answer. Also, rude”.

“Sorry”, Steve sighs and walks back over to the couch. Natasha nods. Steve Rogers being impolite is as definite a sign as she’s probably going to get that something is going on.

“Well, I paid for this food so I’m going to have some. And I’m not going anywhere until I’m sure that you’re okay”.

Steve knows that arguing will get him nowhere, so he lies there and stares at the ceiling. It’s how he has been spending most of his time for the last week; there’s no reason Natasha can’t be around while he does it. She comes over a minute later carrying two bowls of soup, setting one on the end table by Steve’s head and then retreating to the armchair in the opposite corner with the other. She looks at him intently for a moment before focusing on her food.

She eats in near-silence, with only the occasional sound of her spoon scraping against the bottom of the bowl. When she’s done, she turns her attention back towards Steve, who hasn’t moved an inch and still looks totally miserable.

“Rogers”, she says, “I need you to talk to me”. He makes an apologetic face but doesn’t respond. She tries again, lowering her voice.

“Steve”, she whispers, trying to sound less accusatory. “I just want to help you. Listen, no one should have to go through what you’ve been through - no one ever has - and I know you feel like shit. I know you feel bad and you haven’t been taking care of yourself. And you’re only going to feel worse if you don’t tell somebody what’s going on. So tell me”. Steve sighs and sits up.

“Fine, if that’s what you want. You don’t need to stay so far away, come over here so I don’t have to yell”. Jesus, he just looks so _tired_. Natasha has never seen him like this, not even when he was in the hospital. And even if he could sleep it probably wouldn’t help; this is something deeper than physical exhaustion. She slides over next to him on the couch and starts to put her hand on his shoulder, but decides not to press her luck.

“Okay. First of all, I don’t want to lie to you, because I trust you and also because you’re sort of scary”. He smiles a little but she knows he’s not kidding. “I never want to keep anything from you but I also don’t want to bother you. You’ve got real things to worry about, Nat”.

“You’re not bothering me if I’m the one who came over to see you. But you also can’t be afraid to ask for help, Steve. _You’re_ a real thing to worry about. It’s okay to let someone take care of you, especially when you’ve...you know, you’ve lost a lot. It’s not fair to have to deal with that stuff by yourself. Don’t make this harder than it needs to be. It’s already hard enough”.

He’s quiet now. Natasha has the suspicion that he may have started crying, but she doesn’t look him in the eyes, knowing that this must be awkward for him. Steve’s not the kind of person who’s embarrassed to have emotions, exactly, but he _is_ the kind of person who is embarrassed if he thinks those emotions are inconveniencing anyone. Captain America is nothing if not considerate. After a minute, he responds, hoarser and quieter than before.

“I usually wake up screaming”.

Now she looks straight at him, and he does have tears in his eyes but he scrunches up his face a bit and keeps talking.

“It doesn’t bother the neighbors or anything” he clarifies, as if that is actually the disturbing implication of this confession. “Fury had S.H.I.E.L.D. – or, you know, whoever they actually were – soundproof the place before I moved in”.

“Jesus, Rogers!” Natasha interjects. She has been trying to be as delicate as possible in this situation but sometimes Steve is impossible. “I’m not worried about your damn neighbors! I’m worried about the fact that you are doing so much screaming and crying that your voice still sounds like fucking sandpaper despite your _superhuman regeneration abilities_ ”.

“Sorry”, he whispers. Natasha throws up her hands, because _honestly_ , this boy and his constant need to apologize.

“Okay, okay, sorry, here. I will tell you”. He takes a shaky breath. “I haven’t slept and my voice is shot because I always dream about all the ways I’ve lost him”- his voice hitches in his throat- “and I wake up crying and screaming and it hurts and I don’t know what to do”. This last bit comes out all at once, too fast because his words are trying to outrun the sobbing noises that are definitely threatening to come up right behind them. Natasha does wrap her arm around him now, which is not the most comfortable position in the world because he’s significantly taller than she is and his shoulders are so damn broad, but it feels like the right thing to do. He leans his head against hers.

“I do want to go out and do something about it, of course I do, but I don’t know where he is and I don’t know what would happen if I found him and honestly I feel so bad right now that I’m not sure I could leave this apartment”. He sniffles a little, trying to even out his breathing, then laughs.

“Jesus, Nat, I’m sorry. That was all pretty cliché and dramatic, wasn’t it? Embarrassing”.

“God no, I’m sure you pulled that off much better than most people could have. Very manly”.

He tries to laugh again, but it comes out more like a sob. She sends a sympathetic look in his direction and reaches over to gently stroke the side of his face, and something about the gesture finally breaks him. His face crumples completely and she pulls him close to her, rubbing his back as he takes sharp, uneven breaths that rattle both of their bodies.

It amazes Natasha how this six-foot-two super soldier, this “specimen”, as that guy at the mall had once called him, can seem so utterly small and helpless as he weeps against her shoulder. For the first time she can see the Steve Rogers who existed before Captain America, the skinny kid from Brooklyn who always needed help from someone and hated himself for it. He may have spent all of the past week alone in his apartment failing to psych himself up enough to stop crying, but this is different. This is ugly and undignified, an absolute loss of control and the only way he can finally explain to another person how much everything really hurts. Steve had spent so much time trying to protect other people that he’d had to push down his own feelings, and this is the dam finally bursting. It isn’t pretty, but it is a kind of progress.

“It’s okay, Rogers”, Natasha whispers into his ear. “It’s gonna be fine. I know you’re not okay right now, I know, but you will be. You will be, I promise. We’ll fix it; I’ll help you. I am sorry that it hurts so much but I will try to help you fix it”. She holds him there for several minutes as he cries, tracing circles on his back with her palm until he starts breathing normally.

“I’m so sorry, Natasha”, he eventually chokes. “I really am. This is ridiculous”. He shudders as he takes a deep breath and sits up, wiping at his face. “I’ll get it together, I promise. This won’t happen again”.

“You don’t have to be sorry and you don’t have to be together”, she snaps at him, feeling like he has calmed down enough to handle some traditional Natasha Romanov tough love. “At least for right now. But here’s what’s going to happen. First, you’re going to cry for as long as you damn well please because you have earned it. I swear to God, if most people saw the shit you’ve seen, they would never stop crying. I don’t know how you’ve held it in this long. Take the rest of the week and drown in your own tears if you want, I will not judge you”. He gives her half a smile when he hears this, but it still seems like he wants to curl up in a ball and take her up on the offer. She pats his shoulder.

“Second, you are going to put that damn soup that I so generously brought you in the microwave and then eat it because a malnourished Captain America is just embarrassing. Then you’re going to sleep, in your actual bed, for as long as you can, and I’m going stay on this couch and I will be here when you wake up. I will be here if you have a nightmare or need to cry some more or want to talk or watch TV or whatever will make you feel better. And I _am_ going to stay here until you feel better, however long that is. We’re going to make this work”.

“Nat, you don’t have to…” he protests, but she holds up her hand.

“I know. I don’t _have_ to do anything. I _want_ to help you. Honestly, what else am I going to do? So. I’m staying over until you’re up to going out again, and then we’re going for it. We’ve got this”.

Steve gives her a quizzical look. She rolls her eyes.

“When you’re ready, we’re going to find him. We’ll track him down. We’ve still got connections. Sam can help. Look, I know it’s hard for you to think about him because he was your best friend, but he’s _not gone_. He is not hopeless. He is out there somewhere, he has lasted this long, and we are going to fix this, Steve. _We are going to fucking fix this_ ”.

He takes a deep breath. “I was just kind of feeling like I’d never get off this couch”.

“Well, that is ridiculous. You’re Captain America; you’re not allowed to give up. Gotta be strong and brave and here to save the American way and all that”. He actually laughs now. It’s raspy and painful-sounding, but it’s a laugh.

“Good lord, it’s been a while since I heard that”. Natasha leans over and kisses his red, tear-stained cheek.

“Go to sleep, Cap, please. I’m here if you need me. We’ll find The Win...your friend. We will”.

“Bucky”, he corrects her. It seems uncomfortable for him to say the name out loud, but he looks determined.  “Yeah, we are. We are. Night, Nat. Sorry I cried all over your shirt”.

“It’s all right. I consider any mission where my clothes don’t end up covered in blood to be a success; this is nothing”.

He clears his throat and leans in closer. “I really do appreciate it”.

She nods. “Goodnight, honey. I’ll be right here”.

He squeezes her shoulders and stands up, still shaky but no longer crying. When he reaches the bedroom door, he turns around and gives her a little wave of acknowledgement.

You’ll be right here. We’ll find him. We’ve got this.


End file.
